After the Kiss (5 page)

“Love it,” she lied. She wasn’t really a beer girl unless she was on a boat in a bikini on the hottest days of summer. But she knew how this worked. Playing the high-maintenance card this early in the game would never get her a second date.

And it certainly wouldn’t get her that story.

Mitchell led her to a small Irish bar that she’d never heard of and opened the door for her.

“Thanks,” she murmured. He put his hand on the small of her back to guide her inside, and Julie froze.

Uh-oh
. She’d been wrong about them not having any chemistry. Very wrong. The brief
brush of his fingers against her spine gave her immediate goose bumps, and Julie had to resist the urge to turn and run. Being attracted to Mitchell was not part of the plan, yet here she was, quivering and wanting to rub against him.

Mayday, mayday! I want to hump my story subject!

Mitchell snatched his hand back too quickly, rapping it on the door jamb, and Julie felt a small measure of relief. At least he’d felt it too.

“So what do you do, Mitchell?” Julie asked, hoping to defuse the sudden shock of awkwardness as they settled at a cozy table in the corner

“Wall Street,” he said as though it needed no further explanation. And really, it didn’t. In Manhattan, you were either on Wall Street or not on Wall Street. If you were in the “not” category, you didn’t have the faintest idea what the hell happened down there, and you didn’t really care.

Or at least Julie didn’t care. Except this time she had to pretend that the topic didn’t bore her to death. If she was going to survive a month with this dud, she at least needed to be able to speak his language.

“How interesting,” she said, leaning forward slightly and casting her eyes up. “What’s that like?”

To her surprise, Mitchell snorted and sat back in his chair, watching her with a faintly incredulous look. “Does that usually work for you?”

Julie jolted out of her fluttering routine, blinking in confusion. “Does what work?”

He waved a dismissive hand over her. “This whole thing. The eyelashes and the cooing and the false interest.”

Julie sat back sharply in surprise, feeling stung. “Who says it’s false?”

He braced his forearms on the table as his eyes bored into hers.

Abruptly Julie realized her mistake. Mitchell Forbes might look harmless, but he was definitely not to be trifled with. She’d played her cards all wrong.

“Of course it’s false,” he said slowly. “You can’t honestly tell me you give a crap what I do from nine to five all day.”

“I care,” she peeped softly.

“I’m sure. Do you even know where Wall Street is?”

Shit
. “Um … downtown?”

He gave her a small smile that let her know he knew it was a lucky guess. “You hungry?”

“Gee, I don’t know. Whatever I say might be
fake
.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry for rushing your game,” he said, not sounding sorry at all as he grabbed a couple of menus from the corner of the bar. “I’ll just be quiet for a few while you try to decide whether or not I
want
you to be hungry. In the meantime you can ask any questions you want.”

Julie’s surprised embarrassment at her transparency was giving way to anger. Nobody had ever talked to her this way before. And if anyone else
had
seen through her, they’d certainly never called her out.

“Okay, fine,” she snapped, snatching the menu out of his hand. “Where are you from?”

“Around here.”

She gave him a look over the top of the menu. “I wouldn’t have thought it possible after that ‘free drink’ dud, but your sad attempts at humor are actually going downhill.”

The dimples again. “There, now that’s what I’m talking about. Give me something real.”

“Something real?” she asked, gazing at the menu. “How about this … what I would usually order, and what I really
should
order, is this boring-sounding cranberry turkey salad. But what I really
want
is the fish and chips. I’m going with the latter. Just for you.”

She gave him a patently false grin.

He shrugged, not looking at all impressed by her foray into fried foods. “It’s a start.”

“I’m just trying to get to know you,” she snapped, losing patience.
Just play along!

“Fine,” he said smoothly, leaning back and studying her. “I’ll be thirty-five on November eighth, my mother was a high school math teacher, my father was also on Wall Street, and yes, I did follow in his footsteps. I’m a middle child, with an older brother and younger sister. I’ve never done drugs, I love red wine. I ran the New York Marathon last year. Reading is my favorite hobby. And I like vanilla ice cream.”

Julie couldn’t resist the urge to roll her eyes. She could have written his bio for him. Vanilla ice cream, for God’s sake.

“Anything else?” he asked.

“Favorite color?” she asked sweetly.

“Blue. Now, my turn.”

“No, thanks,” she said, slapping her menu on the table. “Besides, it’ll take me a while to
wake myself up from my nap. What a riveting life you’ve had.”

Mitchell gave her a slow, victorious smile.

“What?” she snapped. “You like being insulted?”

“No, but I like when you get all uppity like this. Be honest … you think all that small talk is garbage. You could barely keep yourself awake long enough to answer the questions.”

“Whatever,” she muttered. “Clearly you don’t date much.”

Julie thought she saw something dark flash across his face, but it was gone before she could name the emotion.

“My turn for the questions,” he said again.

“Fine,” she sighed wearily. “Let’s get it over with.”

“You work for
Stiletto
magazine.”

“Hardly a secret.”

He ignored her snotty tone. “And you’re part of some little power trio.”

“That’s right,” she said slowly, surprised he knew that much. He didn’t seem the type to be plugged into Manhattan’s social scene or read “Page Six.”

“And you write the sexy stuff?”

She hid a smile. Most men wouldn’t dare touch
Stiletto
in public, but that didn’t mean they weren’t curious.

“Sort of,” she replied. “The magazine calls it Dating, Love, and Sex.”

“Kiss, Cuddle, and Fuck,” he muttered under his breath.

Julie choked on her beer. “Excuse me?”

“Nothing,” he said, looking faintly horrified and a good deal less cocky than he had a moment before.

“Oh, no way am I letting you off
that
hook,” Julie said, leaning forward. “If I don’t get to hide behind pleasantries, neither do you.”

“It was nothing.”

“It wasn’t nothing. You said ‘Kiss, Cuddle, and Fuck.’ What is that?”

He gave her a swift look as though the answer should be obvious, but he still refused to answer.

The answer hit her almost immediately. Julie burst out laughing. “Oh, that’s good,” she said, shaking her head. “I can’t wait to tell Grace and Riley. They’ll love that.”

He looked doubtful. “So out of the three, you’re …”

“Dating. Or Kiss, by your definition. Some people would probably tell you that I write the fluff pieces of our section, but I like to think I write the good stuff. Somehow our society has developed this mentality that dating is supposed to be stressful. It should be
fun
.”

“Sure, at first. But it can’t be all fun and games.”

“Why not?”

He looked frustrated. “Because that’s not real life.”

“Says who? Where is it written that there’s some sort of time limit on happiness?”

“Well, have
you
ever been able to sustain constant happiness in your relationships? Surely you’ve experienced moments of frustration or anger or boredom once you’ve moved past the puppy love stage.”

Julie felt the color drain from her face. His words hit way too close to home. And even more alarming was the fact that she’d gotten so wrapped up in their conversation that she’d forgotten her purpose. This wasn’t meant to be a bantering session.
Reel him in
.

“Are you okay?” he asked with a frown.

“Actually, I’m pretty hungry,” she said, clamoring for a distraction. “Do you think we could order some food?”

“Sure.” He stood and walked to the other end of the bar to get the bartender’s attention, since it wasn’t exactly a table service kind of place. She was grateful for the reprieve to gather herself. What had she been thinking, bragging about how she was the queen of dating? The last thing she needed was to call attention to how she put personal experiences into her stories. She needed him to forget she was a journalist—she shouldn’t wave it in his face like a big red flag.

She took a bracing sip of beer, trying to calm her jitters. Julie couldn’t remember ever forgetting herself so easily on a first date. She wasn’t entirely sure she liked the feeling.

“Here,” Mitchell said, returning to the table. He plunked a glass of white wine in front of her.

“What’s this?”

“Pinot grigio. Don’t even pretend you’re enjoying your Guinness.”

She gave him a cautious glance. He was observant. That did not bode well for her purposes. “Thanks, but I don’t want to waste the beer.…”

Mitchell shrugged. “So I’ll drink it.”

He slid her barely touched glass of beer toward him as he drained the rest of his own glass. Julie tried not to gape. He was finishing her beer as if it was the most natural thing in the world to clean up her leftovers.

Get it together—it’s not that big a deal
. She’d shared food and drinks with plenty of guys over the years.

But not on the first date. And never so casually.

This had been no teasing offer of a bite of dessert, and there’d been no suggestive whisper that he should finish her drink because she was feeling tipsy. She’d played all those cards before, but not tonight.

Mitchell just acted as if it was his right. As though it was one of many drinks he’d be finishing for her. It felt strangely, uncomfortably natural.
What the hell is going on here?

“Well, thank you,” she said stiffly.

“No problem. Although fair warning—the wine is probably crap. This is more of a beer and whisky place.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” she said, with a pointed glance at the dozens of Guinness and Jamison signs covering every square inch of wall space. “Super classy, though. You bring all your girls here?”

“Nah,” he said, mostly to himself. “I brought Evelyn once. Didn’t go over well.”

“Ex-girlfriend?”

“Yup.” His eyes had shut down. Apparently
that
wasn’t open for discussion.

“Forbes!” the bartender called. “Order up.”

Julie took a thoughtful sip of her wine as Mitchell went to retrieve their food. He was apparently a regular here, which seemed odd. It didn’t seem to be his type of place. Yet another warning sign that this man wasn’t exactly shaping up to be the predictable drone she’d expected.

“Yum,” she said as he slid a plate of steaming fish and chips in front of her. “This was definitely a better choice than the salad.”

Too late, she glanced at his plate. Whoops. Cranberry turkey salad.

“Don’t worry, I’ll save you a bite,” he said, digging in.

“I can’t say the same,” she said as she dunked a crispy fry in deliciously rich tartar sauce. “How bad do you think this is for me?”

“On a scale between spinach and deep-fried hot dog, I’d say you’re on the heart attack
end.”

“I’ll work it off tomorrow.”

“You exercise?” he asked without looking up from his plate.

“Only so I don’t get fat. You?”

“I run. It’s more of a hobby than a health thing.”

“Says the guy munching the romaine,” she said with a disdainful look at his plate. “And running is
not
a hobby.”

He looked up. “It is too.”

“No. It’s a method of exercise. Developed as a human flight mechanism, and not intended to be enjoyable.”

He laughed and shook his head. “So in your world of dating, there are a finite number of acceptable hobbies?”

“Only if one wants to get a second date.”

Mitchell heaped some of the salad on her plate, which she studiously ignored. “You’re not what I expected.”

“Oh? You had plans for me other than lame pickup lines?”

“I think what I didn’t expect was that
you
would have plans for
me
.”

Julie froze. Surely he didn’t mean … he couldn’t know … But he was continuing to peck at his produce, looking completely unperturbed.

“I assure you, my plans won’t hurt,” she said, letting her voice go husky as she eyed him over the rim of her cheap wineglass.

“See, there you go again. Playing me like a fiddle.”

“Is it working?”

Mitchell gave her a hot look that she felt right down to her inner thighs.
Now that’s what I’m talking about, Wall Street
.

Maybe this relationship gig wouldn’t be so bad after all. There was something to be said about a guy who picked up on your drink preferences without asking, didn’t try to steal your fries, and could make your nipples tighten with a single glance.

“You done?” Mitchell asked, nodding toward her mostly empty plate.

Only with the food
. “Yeah, I’m finished. I should probably call it quits.”

“Great.” He pulled out his wallet, and Julie tried not to gape in surprise.

“When I said call it quits, I meant that I shouldn’t finish my fries, not that we had to leave.”
Dear God, am I begging?

He barely glanced at her. “I know this is rude, but I have an early meeting tomorrow and a couple of reports I need to finish before then.”

Julie refused to let herself frown. Okay, so this was inconvenient, but not disastrous. His quick dismissal was a tiny sting to her ego, but good girlfriend material would be supportive of her man’s work obligations. At least that’s what she’d read in one of Grace’s columns.

“Sure, no problem,” she cooed.

They were quiet as he ushered her out the door with a quick wave at the bartender. Julie felt rather than saw him move his arm, and she took a half step closer, figuring he was going to put a hand on her back, maybe even pull her closer.